


efficiency

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cunnilingus, F/M, Implied Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This is one of the few things that need them to occupy the same place at the same time.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Moira MacTaggert, Erik Lehnsherr/Moira MacTaggert/Charles Xavier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2021





	efficiency

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [xmenrarepairs21](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs21) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Anything with a focus on Erik and Moira, in or out of a polyamourus relationship with Charles.

Moira McTaggert is a force of transformation. Like a natural disaster, it’s impossible to look away when she falls apart – a kind of beauty in destruction that bears a hint of something even more terrifying. Bite her at the right place, twist her hair, and all the poise, self-containment and self-righteousness crumbles down to nothing. 

Hence: this.

They slam into the seniors' bathroom; Moira’s hands tangled in his hair, his hands down the back of her jeans. She bites and sucks at his lips, invading, and Erik holds her back to get air into his lungs. It’s not until he has her pressed flat against the door, wrists above her head, that he can twist a hand to lock the door with a click. 

She notices, of course; her eyes flitting to the side with a sharp knee hooked around the back of his thigh and she raises an eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes. She smirks. 

“Sure. You have fifteen minutes, Lehnsherr.”

Hands already at her belt, she’s shimmying her jeans down before he can use his powers. Erik doesn’t miss a beat and grabs her waist, hoisting her up onto the row of sinks. The sound of warm skin smacking on cold tile resounds through the bathroom. 

Erik pops open the buttons on her shirt. “No, you better be quick to come.” 

Moira gives him a sharp smile.“That all depends on your performance.” 

She pushes her jeans further down to trap her knees, panties following. Erik sinks to his knees on the cold tile floor and pulls her in by her bony hips. Slick wetness has already soaked her underwear, and spread to the tops of the inside of her thighs. 

When he breathes over her throbbing cunt, a visible shudder races up her legs.

“Don’t fucking tease, Lehnsherr,” she breathes, putting her legs over his shoulders to pull him closer with strong calves. “I will have Charles convince you to let me peg you, and then you won’t be able to say no.”

Moira has a wild look in her eyes, a strand of hair stuck on her swollen lips. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest – what’s visible through her open collar at least – and through her shirt, stiff nipples protrude the fabric. She has threatened before, with something dangerous and heedy glinting in her dark eyes. As if she doesn’t know that Erik has been daydreaming of it lately, to Charles’ great pleasure, the voyeuristic bastard. It has been on Moira’s mind for a long while too. 

And while Charles is always gentle when they fuck – slow and sensual in a way that undoes Erik like a spool of thread – Moira rides him without any consideration. 

Somehow, he knows she wouldn’t heed anything when fucking him either. 

He suppresses a shudder. Instead, says, “Perhaps,” and grins. 

She rolls her eyes. “Get to work,” she says, tightening her grip in his hair to haul him up, face first, against her. 

It comes easy now; how to fit his mouth on and around her. Before Moira, Erik didn’t even know how to give head. Charles was always so one-track enthusiastic about giving head that Erik never felt any inclination to go down on her, and Charles never asked him to. Not that Erik would have objected, but it simply never turned out that way. He never went down on Magda either; too young and ignorant to know what it was or what to do. 

After Moira though, Erik had sometimes lain, half awake and basking in the lingering tingles of aftershocks, and watched through half-lidded eyes as Charles slid down under the covers to eat Moira out until she was a shuddering, sheet-grasping mess – cracking open in the space between orgasms, her open mouth inches away from his. 

It seemed so easy when Charles did it; how he wrecked her. When Erik had asked _how_ , Charles had just smiled, shook his head and said _practice makes perfect_ , in typical Xavier condescension. However, Moira’s still, after a year, a stuck-up overachiever with extracurriculars up over her ears that somehow _always_ coincide with the Mutant Alliance meetings, and this is one of the few things that need them to occupy the same place at the same time. 

The solution? 

This.

Moira sighs above him, shifting a bit on the cold tile to unstick sweaty skin. Spreads her quivering thighs as far as her jeans allow as Erik sucks at the skin there, before taking Charles’ advice to heart and bites down. Had this been last December, she’d no doubt clocked him in the head. 

Now though, she lets out a high-pitched moan and throws her head back; the hand in his hair tightening to a frightening degree. “Quick, remember?” 

Letting her feel his grin against her skin, Erik thumbs her labia open. She’s throbbing, slick and soaking wet already. He breathes over her clit just to feel the twitch of thighs as they instinctively try to close. With all that martial arts training she has, it takes an honest effort to hold her open when he seals his lips around her; sucking gently. 

Fingernails dig into his scalp and shoulder – she gasps as if all the air has left her lungs, and Erik can’t help but laugh a little. It earns him a harder than necessary tug on his hair, but it’s so worth it to feel Moira fold in forward, all shivers and heaving breaths as he gently pushes his fingers inside of her, crooking them slightly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, the word riding on a puff of air as she hauls him even closer. “Use your _tongue_ , Erik. Come on.”

She’s non-stop shaking at this point, breaths harsh and bouncing off the walls as she hugs his head closer, moaning into the back of his shirt. Between her thighs, it’s overwhelming and Erik closes his eyes to focus on her; on fresh sweat and warmth, her taste and how to carefully scissor her open as he rubs insistently at her perineum with a knuckle. 

Above him, Moira stops breathing, thighs twitching involuntarily.

She’s a good girl, a teacher’s pet, and valedictorian, and so won’t ever admit how much she loves it when he or Charles slips their fingers in her ass. But she said _quick_ , so Erik won’t play above the table. 

Flicking his tongue while sucking at her clit, he wets his fingers inside her and pushes his ring finger in, barely, just to feel that resistance – and acceptance as he slides home. 

A gasp– then Moira keens; high in her throat as her whole body tenses, tethered on a pericipe. Careful to keep sucking and fingering her, Erik becomes acutely aware of how the iron in her blood is heedlessly rushing forward under her skin; the way the small electrical currents of her neurons are just firing, going rampant as fingernails pierce through the fabric of his shirt. 

It’s enough of a sensation that he’s close to coming by proxy: sweat at the back of his neck and rock hard in his jeans. 

He pushes another finger in.

A second away from coming up for breath, Moira tenses – and completely falls apart. 

Convulsing, thighs clenching and releasing in time with her cunt around his fingers, going harder as she gasps for breath and holds on to him for dear life, before finally, finally, coming down.

After a long while, she shakily sits up and Erik pulls away, straightening out his aching knees. He’s shaking, both from his racing heart and from being on the verge of coming for so long. He’s going for the towel dispenser, but then he stops. Sitting on the row of sinks, hair completely in disarray, jeans around her knees and lips kissed and bitten swollen, Moira is stunning. She’s still catching her breath, brushing sweat from her eyebrows, trying not to smudge where she’s filled them in. 

As always, however, her spatial awareness catches him looking.

“What?” 

Erik just shakes his head. “Just looking at you.”

She snorts, cheeks flushed and fucked out; glowing. “Obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes as she catches his arm and pulls him to stand between her slick thighs. “So stop it.”

Not looking at himself in the mirror – he’s most certainly a wreck himself – Erik raises his eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

“Because I want you to kiss me, asshole,” she mutters, grabbing the back of his head.

He follows; lets her lick herself from his lips. Erik’s watched his fair share of cheap porn in his life, but there’s something entirely different in having Moira do it from him. The way he knows it’s her mint smelling breath, that he knows she’ll bite his bottom lip hard enough to leave marks before pulling away.

Catching his breath, Erik rubs his hands on her thighs; sweat-slick skin under his hands. “When do you need to get back?” he asks as Moira leans over to grab some paper towels from the dispenser.

Taking a quick look at her wristwatch, Moira says, “Ten minutes.”

Erik rakes his eyes over her – wild eyes, flushed cheeks and throat, nipples still visible through her shirt – 

“You’re not going to make it,” he says.

That earns him a tired eye roll. “Hypocrite. Take a look at your face.”

“I don’t have Math Society to go to,” he reminds her.

Moira snorts, shifting to slip into her panties again, unintentionally spreading her legs wide. For a second, Erik almost reaches out to pinch her clit. Just to fuck with her, to make her lose control, to see more of that poise crumble and die – 

Having pulled the denim over her legs again, Moira shakes her hair out and zips her fly. “Do you take the subway home, or want me to drive you?” she asks, taking a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket to hide the swollenness.

Erik shrugs. “I’ll wait.”

At that, she smiles. “Good boy,” she says, and hops down from the sink. “Wash your face and meet me outside the library in an hour.”

Kissing him one last time, she grabs her book bag from the floor and disappears. Erik simply looks after her. Then he takes the last few paper towels from the holder, wets them under the tap, and does as told.


End file.
